Too Much To Drink?
by Copycat
Summary: One-shot. Nikki has a bit too much to drink and Harry has to bring her home.


TITLE: Too Much To Drink?  
AUTHOR: Copycat (Lizzy)  
RATING: T  
CLASSIFICATION: Nikki/Harry, Friendship, Romance  
SPOILERS: Nothing too specific, but anything through series 12 is fair game.  
SUMMARY: Nikki has a bit too much to drink and Harry has to bring her home.  
DISCLAIMER: The BBC owns everything you recognise. And probably some things you don't.

It seems to me that there's always going to be room for another Drunk!Nikki fanfic in the world, so I thought this was a good place to start my _Silent Witness_ fanfiction writing career. I hope no-one disagrees too strenuously. In my mind Nikki was a lot more drunk and a lot less coherent, but when I started writing she just seemed to want to talk and talk, so I let her.

I adore constructive criticism, so please feel free to tell me how I can improve.

* * *

Harry had picked up his mobile and put it back down about ten times before he finally found Nikki's number and pressed 'dial'.

It was Friday, they had the weekend off, and he knew she had been planning to go out with some girlfriends, so the fact that it was eleven o'clock at night didn't worry him too much.

What worried him was the thought that she might see that it was him ringing her, decide she was still angry with him, and ignore the call. And then he probably wouldn't get a chance to explain to her that there was no point in being angry with him. At least not while she was inebriated and therefore probably much more open to his deceptive logic.

The phone was answered on the third ring. "Hello?" Said a male voice, laughing at something that was going on in the background.

Harry held out the phone in front of him to check that he had indeed dialled Nikki's number and then put it back to his ear. He frowned. If Nikki had pulled he really didn't want to talk to her. There was absolutely no need for him to see, hear or know anything about that. "Hello," he said finally. "I was calling for Nikki." Which was probably obvious, but he felt like he should say something.

The man laughed again, not really paying attention to Harry. "Oh. Um... Blonde, skinny, gorgeous girl?"

Harry felt the description was specific enough to agree with.

"Ha!" The man was triumphant. "So _that's_ what her name is. She wouldn't say."

"Right." Harry had no clue what else to say to that.

"Are you the husband, then?" The man on the other end of the line sounded more amused than concerned by the possibility.

"Yes," Harry told him, wondering if he was doing Nikki a favour or messing up her game and not quite managing to feel bad about the possibility of it being the latter. "Could I talk to my wife, please?"

"I think you'd probably better, mate," the man told him. He didn't move the mobile very far from his mouth and Harry felt his ear drums wince in protest when he shouted, "Oi, Nikki darling. It's your husband on the phone for you."

The sound of several women laughing travelled down the line to Harry. The tinkling sound of Nikki's amusement wasn't in the mix.

"Hello honey?" Nikki's voice was slurred and decidedly unconfused by the fact that an imaginary husband was calling her. For an instant Harry wondered if she had actually gotten married and not told him about it, but then he dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

"Nikki. Hi, it's Harry."

She laughed. "Harry? I thought Andrea might have gotten someone to ring me as a joke." She paused to take a sip of her drink. "Did you tell Dave that you're my husband?"

Harry wondered if 'Dave' was handsome. It had been impossible to tell from his voice. "Yes," he admitted finally. "I thought I was doing you a favour," he added, even if it wasn't really true.

"Hmm," Nikki answered non-committally. "You're not my husband, though," she told him. "You're not even my boyfriend."

"No, I'm not," he agreed, wondering just how much she'd had to drink. "Sorry."

"Are you sorry you're not my boyfriend?" He could hear the amusement in her voice as she teased him.

He was tempted for a minute to tell her 'yes', just to see how she would respond but then he decided against it. She might not be quite as drunk as that. "I'm sorry I'm the wrong guy calling you."

"Why are you the wrong guy? Who's supposed to be calling me?"

Or, perhaps she _was_ quite that drunk.

He laughed. "I don't know. You sounded disappointed it was me, that's all."

"I'm never disappointed that it's you, Harry," she told him with what he assumed must be drink-induced honesty. Then, as if to distract him from the possible implications of what she had said, she called out loudly. "Hey Aaron, I'll have another one too, please."

There was a pause, then: "Oh, come on, I've been such a good girl, I've earned it." She was practically purring.

At Aaron. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. This was absolutely why he had called. To hear her chatting up possibly handsome guys who were getting her drunk. Who wouldn't want to spend their Friday night like that?

He wondered if this was the Universe punishing him for that afternoon. Because if it was, well played, Universe.

"So, are you having fun?" He asked, mostly just to say something, not because he wanted to know.

"Oh, yes," she enthused. "We're having a great time. It's loads of fun."

He was sure that last bit was meant to sting, but she was too drunk to bring any venom into the words. "That's good."

An unfamiliar female voice travelled down the line. "Who are you talking to, Nikki?"

"It's Harry."

"Harry from work?" The woman asked and Harry was tempted to protest the epithet. "Can I talk to him?"

"No." Nikki's voice was firm. "He's _my_ Harry, not yours."

Harry laughed to himself, suddenly feeling stupidly pleased.

"That's fine, sweetie, I just want a little word with him. I'm not trying to steal your toys." The woman sounded exasperated but amused.

"Oh, okay," Nikki conceded and Harry heard the shuffling sounds of what he assumed was Nikki's mobile being passed over.

"Harry? Are you still there?" The woman asked, now clearly holding the phone.

"I am."

"Great. I'm Andrea, Nikki's friend. Look, are you out on the town tonight?"

He wondered if she was going to suggest that he joined them. He wondered what he should reply. Did he want to watch Nikki flirting, and possibly going home with, Dave or Aaron or one of those God knew how many other men who were vying for her attention? Or would his presence stop her flirting with them? "No."

"Great," Andrea said. "Do you think you could do Nikki a huge favour?"

"Of course," he agreed without a second thought, because he knew he would do pretty much anything Nikki wanted, or needed, him to.

"Could you come pick her up and bring her home? I'd put her in a taxi only I'm not sure she would actually go home if I did. She might just have it bring her to another bar."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," Andrea went on hastily. "Is this completely inappropriate? Nikki said you were really good friends, but maybe you're not _that_ kind of good friends. I don't want to embarrass her in front of her colleagues."

Harry laughed. "You're not. She manages that just fine on her own."

Andrea laughed too, clearly relieved. "Great. Well, not great, I suppose, but--you know what I mean, right?"

"Yes, I know."

"Right, so will you come get her?"

"Of course. Where are you?"

Andrea gave him the name and address of the bar they were in and then hung up. The last thing Harry heard at the other end of the line was Nikki giggling at some man's poorly told joke.

* * *

Harry pulled up in front of the posh-looking bar, parking illegally across the street. Once inside he quickly located Nikki's party by a table towards the back. She was deep in conversation with a young man in a cheap suit. She looked like she was trying to explain something very complicated; he looked like he couldn't believe his luck that she was actually talking to him.

Harry didn't blame the man. He didn't look like the type of man that beautiful women would usually give the time of day. Harry instantly felt a bit better. Perhaps this was Aaron.

He stopped, leaning against an empty table some feet away from them, and watched her as she tried to gesticulate without spilling her drink. Her face was flushed and her hair, done up so neatly earlier in the day, had come out of its clips in messy strands. Her eyes shone with enthusiasm.

She was flirting with the guy, but in a small, seemingly unconscious way that Harry knew meant nothing. It was just her natural sweetness, strengthened by the alcohol. Still, it wasn't hard to imagine how the guy felt, being on the receiving end of it.

Suddenly Nikki looked up and saw him watching her. Her smile grew even wider and, forgetting all about the poor man she had been talking to, she lurched herself towards Harry, wrapping her arms around him and spilling at least half a pink drink down his back. "Harry! Come have a drink with us."

He returned the hug, cringing as the icy liquid seeped through his shirt and ran down his back. Clearly she had forgotten that she was mad at him. "No thank you. I've come to take you home, actually."

She pulled back and tried to focus on his face. "You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" She laughed at her own joke.

He smiled indulgently and took the now nearly empty glass from her hand. Her fingers were wet and sticky. "Well, I figured you'd had enough of these by now so it would be fairly easy going."

She nodded in solemn agreement and he laughed loudly.

"So which one is Andrea?" He asked.

Nikki's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "We talked on the phone, I thought I'd say 'hello' in person."

"Oh, okay," she agreed and led him back to the table.

"This is Andrea. Andrea, this is Harry," she said, waving at a woman with dark curly hair.

Andrea looked up and smiled, dimples appearing in both her cheeks. "So _you're_ the infamous Harry. Hello." She half-rose and reached out a hand for Harry to shake.

He took it and smiled back. "Infamous? Really? What has Nikki been saying about me?"

"Oh, nothing at all nice, don't worry," another woman piped in.

"Are you the husband, then? How nice to meet you. I'm Aaron." A man in a crisp charcoal suit turned to Harry and smiled. Harry instantly disliked him. And his tanned skin and broad shoulders and perfect white teeth and perfect hair and perfect cheekbones and probably perfect personality. "Well, Dr. Aaron Ross." He said it in that self-deprecating way that was clearly meant to say, "Yes, I'm brilliant but I don't want to brag. I just want to be sure you know about it."

"Dr. Harry Cunningham," Harry replied, pointedly unimpressed.

"Ah," Aaron said, clearly disappointed but rallying quickly. "What's your field? I'm a paediatric surgeon myself," he said with false modesty.

"I'm a forensic pathologist," Harry told him, determined not to care.

"Whenever you screw up and kill someone, it's Harry's job to find out what you did wrong," Andrea told Dave, smiling sweetly before getting up from her seat and walking over to Harry.

She shook her head. "The guy is unbelievable. And unbelievably determined. Which is why I thought I'd ask you to come and get Nikki." She shook her head. "Save her the embarrassment of waking up next to ithat/i tomorrow morning." She waved her hand at Aaron, who was clearly trying to catch Nikki's eye.

"I'm sure once she sobers up she will be very grateful," Harry assured her.

Andrea shrugged, frowning as she watched Nikki struggle with Aaron for a sip of his beer. "Maybe, maybe not. Just... get her home safely, yeah?"

"I will," Harry promised. "And thanks."

Andrea smiled as if she had just realized something funny. Squeezing Harry's arm she nodded knowingly. "You're welcome."

"Hello." They both looked at Nikki, who had suddenly materialised by their side.

"Hello," Harry replied. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Where are we going?"

"You're going home," he explained.

"And you and Andrea?"

"Oh, I'm staying here with the charming Aaron," Andrea told her. "Harry's driving you home. I'll just go get your jacket for you."

"I hate her," Nikki confessed the minute she was out of earshot.

"I'm sure she was joking about Aaron," Harry said.

"What?" She frowned in confusion, clearly not thinking along those lines. "No. She's so pretty. I hate her dimples."

"You're very pretty," Harry said without thinking. He hadn't really noticed how Andrea looked.

"I don't have dimples, though," Nikki complained, brushing his compliment aside.

Andrea returned, handing Nikki's leather jacket to Harry. "It was nice to meet you," she told him before turning to Nikki. "Drink some water, okay? Goodnight."

"I hate your dimples," Nikki replied.

Andrea nodded patiently. "I know. You told me. I wouldn't worry about it, though. Some guys don't like girls with dimples." She glanced at Harry and smiled. "Some guys like dimple-free blondes."

He wondered if she were a mind reader or he was just that obvious.

Nikki looked briefly at Harry and then her eyes moved to Aaron. "I suppose," she sighed.

"Yes, well, off you go," Andrea said briskly. "I'll ring you tomorrow sometime." She hugged Nikki briefly and pushed her gently in Harry's direction.

Nikki nearly tripped and giggled. "Byeee," she said, waving at the table in general before allowing Harry to guide her towards the door with a hand at the small of her back.

Outside, Nikki shivered in the chilly night air, and Harry dropped her jacket over her shoulders before opening the car door and guiding her into the passenger seat.

"I think I can manage," she told him, proving herself wrong as she grasped in vain for the seatbelt.

He smiled smugly and leaned in to fasten the seatbelt on her other side. She smelt of alcohol, flowers and, vaguely, disinfectant.

He paused, one hand on her seat, his fingers resting against her leg, when she suddenly grabbed hold of his shirt. "You're all wet," she told him.

"I know," he said, smiling. "You spilled your drink on me. Again."

She laughed. "Are your trousers wet too?" She asked, trying to get a look at them.

He pulled away, worried that she might try to cop a feel. "Only in the back."

Checking that she didn't have an arm or leg in the way he slammed the car door shut and moved to the driver's side and got in.

As he pulled out behind a taxi and began the drive towards Nikki's home she leaned back against the car seat and closed her eyes, sighing contentedly. Just when he thought she had fallen asleep she giggled.

"What?"

She opened her eyes to look at him. "Aaron thought we were married. Even after you showed up."

He nodded seriously. "Yes, well, I can see why that's amusing. I mean, most people probably would be surprised that I'd settled for someone like you. I could do so much better."

She smiled, not taking him seriously.

"I mean, you don't even have dimples," he added cruelly, laughing.

She brought her hands to her cheeks, covering them up. "Would you like me better if I did have dimples?" She asked, seriously.

"Absolutely," he assured her.

"Harry..." she whined.

"What? Don't you believe me? I'm being very serious."

She glared at him then looked out the window. "She stole my boyfriend once."

"Really?" He wondered if the train of thought that had led her from dimples to stolen boyfriends would become clear.

"When we were at university. Well, I suppose she didn't _steal_ him exactly, but he was my boyfriend and he finished with me because he fancied her."

"Did she go out with him?"

Nikki shook her head vigorously. "No. She baked him a chocolate cake. With lots of Ex-Lax in it." She smiled at the memory.

Harry snorted with laughter, unable to feel sorry for the guy who had hurt Nikki's feelings.

"But he still liked her better. He went on and on about her dimples."

"Ahh," Harry said, understanding at last.

"She was my best friend at university. Did you like her?"

"She seemed--nice," he agreed.

Nikki rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"You mean, did I fancy her dimples?"

"Yes."

He reached over and poked Nikki's dimple-less cheek with his index finger. "No."

"Did you fancy the rest of her?" She persisted.

Harry sighed. "I didn't fancy any part of her at all."

"Good," she smiled to herself, nodding.

"What about Aaron, then? He was quite a catch. I think he might even be better looking than Ryan the paramedic. Of course he doesn't have the fancy get-up, just boring old scrubs like the rest of us," Harry teased.

"Scrubs are fine," Nikki said absent-mindedly. "Anyway, Aaron was a prat. He didn't even care I was married. He suggested that we give you the slip and find a hotel."

"What did you say to that?"

"I told him you weren't my husband at all."

"And that made him lose interest?"

"Not exactly. He gave me his phone number."

"Mmm. You'll have to call him then."

Nikki frowned. "Do you think I should?"

"Didn't you just say he was a prat?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. Was she really considering going out with this guy?

"Well, yes, but what did _you_ think?"

"I didn't realize my opinion mattered," he told her.

She frowned. "Are you still mad at me?"

"Am _I_ still mad at _you_? I thought you were mad at me." Women's logic often eluded him, but Nikki's drunk logic might actually be even more complicated than that.

She shrugged, unconcerned. "I was. I mean you were pretty rude to--Andrew." She struggled to remember the name of the DI and Harry couldn't help being pleased. "He was just being nice."

"He was _flirting_ with you. Quite openly. It was inappropriate." Harry winced, even to his own ears that sounded stupid and Leoesque.

She was looking straight at him now. Or, as straight as she could manage. "So? You flirt with me, too." Her voice wasn't accusatory or demanding, she merely sounded puzzled.

Harry didn't answer. He didn't want to tell her that DI Marlowe's blatant come-on hadn't bothered him in the least. He was used to men flirting with Nikki, or trying to. It only ever bothered him when she flirted back.

"Were you jealous?" She said suddenly, teasing. His foot nearly slipped from the pedal as he froze in horror. "I mean, he was rather cute, I can understand why you would want to get your hands on him."

"Yes, exactly," he agreed, his pulse still racing.

"So you're not mad at me?"

"Of course not," he assured her. "I was never mad at you."

"Good," she said contentedly.

When he reached down to change gears she put her hand over his, caressing the back of his hand with her fingers. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and just enjoy the feeling of her touch. He needed to focus somewhat on his driving, after all. Then, as if suddenly realizing what she was doing she pulled away mumbling, "Oh."

Harry said nothing. His left hand felt hot and cold at the same time. And lonely.

"I guess I'm pretty drunk," she told him.

"Yes, you are," he agreed.

"Do you mind?"

"Your drunkenness? No. It'll be something I can hold against you for years to come."

"I meant coming to pick me up. I know Andrea asked you to. I didn't tell her off because I sort of wanted you to come," she admitted.

"That's uncharacteristically sensible of you," he teased. "And I don't mind at all. I rang you, remember?"

"Oh, right. Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to apologise for how I behaved earlier," he admitted.

"Really? You mean you know how to do that?"

He laughed. "Clearly not."

She smiled. "Well, as apologies go, this is pretty good. For you."

He smiled in response as he pulled up outside the gate to Nikki's apartment complex and killed the car engine. He unfastened Nikki's seatbelt before getting out of the car. It didn't seem like such a good idea to have to lean over her to help her again just now.

She punched in the code to open the gate and looked at him in confusion when he followed her through it.

"I promised Andrea I'd get you home safely. That includes a door-to-door service."

She smiled. "I think I'll be fine."

"All the same," he insisted.

"You're a really good friend, Harry," she told him wistfully.

"There's no need to be sad about that, is there?"

"No, I suppose not. I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head as she walked across the courtyard to her front door.

He followed her. "Just what? Did I do something wrong? Other than tell off DI Marlowe, I mean," he added with forced cheerfulness.

She dug through her bag for her keys. "You do lots of things wrong, Harry, I don't care about that. It's only a problem when you do something right."

He nodded. "Of course, that makes perfect sense. Just how much did you have to drink?"

She found her keys and struggled to hit the small keyhole. "Too much for this, I guess."

"Well, keys are tricky," he allowed with a smile, reaching out to help her. He grabbed her hand and guided it gently, fitting the tip of the key into the lock.

When the door was unlocked she turned around to look at him instead of opening it. "I meant too much to be talking to you about this."

He looked down at her face, inches from her own. "Why?"

"Because we don't talk about it, do we? Maybe there's nothing to talk about."

"Well, I don't know what it is we're talking about... Or not talking about."

"Don't you?" She moved closer to him and he could feel her shivering from the cold. He pulled the jacket still resting on her shoulders tighter around her, holding it closed with both hands against her stomach. She looked him straight in the eye, her gaze steady now. "So it really _is_ just me?"

He looked back at her, unable to blink. Only just managing to breathe. This was it, he had been forced into a corner. This was the end of dancing around their mutual attraction. He had to either confess something or hurt her feelings again. He shook his head. "I just don't want you to be hurt."

She snorted. "I'm already hurting, Harry. Can't you tell?"

"No," he said, truthfully. "Why?"

"Because I can't understand." She licked her lips, thinking over her words, then shook her head in resignation. "Goodnight, Harry," she told him. She reached up and pulled his head down, resting her hands on his cheeks, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones. Tilting her own face up she pulled him down further and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was soft and undemanding, but firm and determined, and before he had a chance to respond, either by pulling away or reciprocating, she had ended it and opened her front door.

With a last look at his stunned face she smiled slightly, triumphantly he thought, before turning away and stepping inside. "See you Monday," she said as she closed the door behind her.


End file.
